You all are some sick fucks. I get a record number of hits today (2), the day Monfils has to bow out. Well you won’t find me allaying any of your sick desires to see me squirm (as much as I like to squirm). To be honest I can’t believe Monfils took the court knowing he had two broken wrists. Of course the man is too humble to tell you that himself, which is why I exist. Hours before the match, while doing his hair (always a volatile situation), he broke both his wrists while straightening his hair. I dunno. I didn’t believe it at first either. So to play SeaMoan, let alone take zee 2nd set is unbelievable. He didn’t even have his wrists wrapped! As I write this I’m standing at attention while saluting the Monfils flag that hangs proudly above my work bench (that’s douche talk for bed). That 45 shot rally in the first set was hilarious to watch, ’cause you just know they were both laughing about it on the inside. It also infuriated Manritilova and her veins which is always awesome. If you missed it, they had a crosscourt rally that lasted 67 minutes and it was basically a practice rally/inside joke for the ages. The joke was totally on us, but only if you were smart enough to pick up on it. Monfils also conceded a point and started walking down the baseline to await SeaMoan’s next serve, as the ball was still in the air, and SeaMoan had yet to hit it. That pissed of Veinritilova as well. If you’re not paying attention here’s a basic algebraic equation, if /when Manritiveina=pissed then Tennisburger=pleased. To be serious (for a second) I don’t really know what is wrong with Le Monf’s wrist(s?). But he said fuck during his press conference, so I’m willing to overlook any type of crying that may have been involved. The match had it’s moments but overall was pretty, meh. You could definitely tell something was wrong in the beginning of the third set. SeaMoan walks out of the Monfils pot and into the RAFA! fire, 6-4, 2-6, 6-1(ret). I would say something about the Wrist Assist, but Salty already stole my thunder. Way to keep me on my long, ape-like toes, Salt.
I was tempted to give the World’s Greatest Tennis Player Mug Award to Monfils for playing with two broken wrists (and not telling us about it), but I can’t overlook the gift Verdasco bestowed upon the tennis world. I don’t know how I like a Spaniard with a faux hawk, but I do. I mean, you can almost smell the Chocolate Axe Body Gel Shampoo Wash Soap on the guy. I don’t know how the hell he did it all while staring at a piece of hamburger hanging from the corner of Murray’s upper lip; I mean that most have been more distracting than line judges dressed in orange. Seriously Australian Open Tournament directors, can you maybe next time, have your line judges on fire, or maybe have them swallow some radioactive liquid of the neon green variety? Or fuck it, just get some guys with Tourettes. But back to the mug winner at hand. There were so many inside-out forehand winners in this match I had flashbacks of my mom screaming “In or out!” as I ran in and out of the house after eating a box of Gobstoppers and 12 handfuls of Jujubees. Oh, um Brag? How are your predictions doing? I seem to remember you picking the Scottish Werewolf to go all the way, no? Funny enough, Teflon Don was nowhere to be seen after Murray choked on whatever it is Scottish people eat. He was there to comment on Murray screaming at his box. Ladies, do you ever scream at your box to get fired up? Brag seems to think Murray does. Verdasco, who somehow seemed to wriggle his way into my heart, not unlike a heartworm (warning, that link grossed even me out) helped heave my chub into the heavens, winning somthing-6, 6-something, something-6, 6-something, 6-something. Oh, and I forgot to ask, was Robocop the chair umpire for that match? Did anyone hear that guy’s voce (box)?
Verdasco goes on to face the winner of the Blake v. Tsonga match which is about to begin as I write this. Seeing as how I’m surprised Blake got into the 2nd round, I’m gonna have to go with Tsonga Tsonga Dontcha Wanna for this one. Even if he does practice with his shirt off…a practice I abhor.
Azarenka, up a set on the black shark, succumb to some type of bug of the stomach variety (that’s my new saying by the way…of the _____ variety). She cried! I need to compile my new crier list of ‘09 for sure. Note to tennis players over seas, do not eat bugs! After her press conference Pam Shriver said something to the effect of, I wish I looked that good after throwing up all day. Pam, believe me, you don’t even look as good as her throwup. In related news did you know A-O! is short for Australian Open? Johnny Utah faces the Kooze up next.
Jie Zheng bowed down to the Kooze after falling over on her back in a shameless attempt to try and sue the Australian Open for negligence. Oooh, my neck and my back, indeed. I wonder if they settled out of court for a 40.
Navarro beat Garrigues in the no duh match of the day. Seriously, who the eff is Garrigues? Seeded 21, even. I need to start doing my homework. That goes for school homework too.
Alize “Rainbow” Cornet literally went down to Safina. I love Cornet, but even if she had won that match I would’ve been ashamed of her. There was no reason she should have won that match, and it showed. But I will miss those little French whimpers, those rainbow shots, aaaaand, I dunno, thas it.
I’m diggin’ RAFA!’s new fit. It’s all miami vice meets knickers by way of knee tape. I likes, I likes. If you’re gonna roll with capris you’re gonna have to give up the sleeveless shirts, ya’ know? I like that he was man enough to admit that. Have you noticed RAFA!’s face after a major winner…his c’mon face if you will? He looks up to uncle Tony Toni Tone and there’s almost a look of fear in his face, like this power or skill or what have you that’s inside him is starting to scare him. Maybe, no, I was really high, but that was some heavy stuff, looking into his eyes and seeing that fear, and having that fear stare back at you through the TV screen, then looking away and remembering you haven’t even wacked today, or eaten a grilled cheese, then you look back and his Miami Vice outfit is all sweaty and nasty and then you don’t want a grilled cheese, or a whack and that fear is kinda gone, but you know it’ll rear it’s ugly head, and the whole cycle will begin again. And that cycle usually started right after one of those forehand crosscourt winners that had me wondering if RAFA! had just broken the spacetime continuum. But then I realized I have no idea what the spacetime continuum is.
Dear ESPN2,
No more C’montages please. We get it, the top four are dynamic, and hungry and driven and say c’mon a lot after points, but there are matches being played while your athletic rhetoric (damn I’m hot tonight!) is spinning more out of control than that time I tried to do my first donut in my 5.0 Mustang and wound up making more of a bear claw than a donut and ran over two cats and a mailbox.
Love,
Tennisburger
Well, Blake and the stick up his butt have just started serving, so I need to take a hit of that angel dust (aka eyelid crutch medicine) and watch this match. And I do believe Tsonga is up a break!
Ok Mantrilova is Navratilova? Was she there? I saw her veins once on her left arm, they were impressive. You peaked in the Rafa paragraph. I liked the Daliesqeness.
This is a two-month old post and I still laugh re-reading it. I’d have to agree with William that the Rafa bit is the best part especially when followed up with a Blake.